Hugh and Sven were drinking when
The story came to light,
Of how Sven's arm had come to harm,
And how he'd met his wife.
We had made a Viking raid
On Britton's coast, said Sven,
We spied a village ripe for pillage
And slaughtered all the men.
Into our hold went grain and gold
And all that we had found,
But strife began to wreck our plan
As through a hut I bound.
I heard a yell: "You'll go ta Hell,
For burning all my land!"
Somewhat dismayed, I saw a maid
With tin-snips in her hand.
As she advanced, the snippers danced
A pattern cruel and low.
I shouted "Nay!" and backed away
And wished I'd had a bow.
Within a bit my boot had hit
Something within its path;
I tripped and fell, and with a yell
I landed in the hearth.
As my arm burned, I longed and yearned
To be quite far away,
But being spayed by a fair maid
Is not the Viking way!
I rolled around and bowled her down,
The snips flew from her hand
And fell the dread tool on the bed;
A poignant place to land...
I hoiked her charms o'er my arm,
The one not medium-rare.
She scratched and bit and screamed and hit
As we took our leave of there.
And still she smote me on the boat
As we all sailed away,
But I'll say nor was I so sore
As on my wedding day!
Said Hugh to Sven, "So... Viking then,
Is not an easy life?"
Said Sven to Hugh, "Well how do you
Propose to get a wife?"
Copyright Jaysen Ollerenshaw 2001. Free use for non-profit.
No attempt has been made by the author to verify the accuracy of this poem; poetry format, possible viking weaponry and even the existence of Britton are all matters of poetic speculation for the sake of a humourous tale.
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